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Those days seem now as distant as January from June. The sunshine of Locarno is contracted into the grim clouds of Munich. The very name of Stresemann has been ex- punged from the German vocabulary. Yet what a man he was ! He managed to combine the convivial with the authoritative, the humorous with the powerful. This com- bination of the solid with the sinuous was reflected in his appearance. At moments he really did resemble Augustus John's portrait of him. He would sit there stockily with little questing eyes darting in a face of heavy combativeness. At such moments one was reminded that he was the beer- drinking son of a Berlin publican. Yet at other moments he would suddenly become nimble; his eyes would dance with intelligence, glee and almost kindliness; he would walk rapidly about the room gesticulating with small feminine hands; at such moments he seemed the embodiment of restless grace.
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